Slayer Academy
by Isodriel
Summary: A boarding school for Slayerettes is set up and Buffy enlists the help of a few old friends to teach two hundred teenage girls with superhuman strength a thing or two about life, love and the eternal battle against evil.
1. Madness

**Disclaimer: **_Buffy The Vampire Slayer _and_ Angel_ and all related concepts and characters are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt and Mutant Enemy.

However, all original characters in this fic and the fic itself belongs to me, so no copying/"borrowing" parts of it please.

**Author's Note: **This fic is set after the events of _Chosen, Not Fade Away _and (partially) _Queen Of The Slayers_ (the Buffyverse novel by Nancy Holder).

So, in this universe: After having spent almost a year in Rome, Buffy and the Scoobies have relocated to San Diego; Angel, Spike, Gunn and Illyria all survived the final battle, although they didn't escape unharmed or unchanged; and Giles has become the head of the new Watchers Council.

**Main Characters: **Buffy, Angel, Spike, Xander, Faith, Willow, Kennedy, Dawn, Oz, Giles, Gunn, Illyria, Connor.

**Chapter I: Madness **

The Watchers' Council was in uproar.

"It cannot be allowed to happen!" Raymond Ainsley, Earl of Warwickshire, slammed his fist on the polished surface of the almost impossibly heavy carved oak conference table, his voice a muted roar, his face florid.

The table was magickally enabled to accommodate the five hundred men and women who made up the latest reincarnation of the Council – around one hundred of which were present at the current meeting - and his fist did not even manage to smudge the polish.

It did, however, create an awkward hush in a room with an already markedly uncomfortable atmosphere.

Edmund Croft tutted softly, peering at Ainsley over the steeple of his frail, slender fingers. "There's no need for _violence_, Ainsley. Do get a hold of yourself."

Lord Simon Cavendish looked equally disapproving, although his was the disapproval of a man not opposed to violence, but to unnecessary displays of emotion. His voice was scathing. "Quite. Blustering in that manner will get us nowhere. Our only choice is to _reason _with him."

"And if he won't listen?" Ainsley managed, with difficulty, to keep his voice calm; but his face was still flushed and the other Council members shot him faintly apprehensive glances.

"He will listen," Maria Toscano, one of the Council's sole nine female members, spoke softly but clearly in a faded Southern Italian accent. Her eyes became twinkling slivers of brown among benign wrinkles as she smiled. "He always listens."

Croft nodded vaguely in her direction. "Exactly. We must simply depend on the fact that he will take our advice seriously."

Henry Paulson III, who had not said a single word since the meeting began, leaned forward intently, his eyes fixed on the silver-haired Croft. "I wonder, Edmund," he said softly, "whether you quite realize what is at stake here?"

Croft bristled visibly. "Do you, now?"

"Yes. Obviously, you think this is some sort of … passing difficulty … which it may well be," Paulson paused to shrug, briefly but eloquently. "But if it is not, two hundred Watchers may well be out of work very soon."

"Two hundred _and fifteen_, in fact."

Nobody had heard Rupert Giles enter the room, and all eyes fixed on him as he took his customary seat at the circular table and set a sheaf of papers down in front of him. He adjusted his glasses, skimmed through the papers one last time, looked up - and smiled. "But I don't imagine they'll have much difficulty in finding ways to occupy their time."

"Rupert," Maria Toscano began, gently, "this idea of yours… it is madness. Abandon it."

"It isn't my idea; it's hers," Giles said simply. "And I have no intention of abandoning it."

"That girl is a renegade," Ainsley sputtered, eyes narrowing. "And she wants to be an example to others? She should have been disciplined long ago – now look at the result! The entire Council is to bend and sway to her every whim, is it? Is that what we have become? The servants of Slayers! Well I, for one, _will not stand for this._"

Giles watched Ainsley mildly for a long, silent moment. "I would advise you to give a little more thought to your words before you speak, Raymond. It would be unfortunate to have to lose a member of the Council so soon after its re-formation."

Ainsley glared at him, but chose wisely to keep quiet, and Giles continued in the same mild tone. "You were right in one respect – we _are _the servants of Slayers. It's all we ever have been. It's why this Council _exists_."

He sighed and let his eyes roam over the faces of the other Council members present – some young, more old and nearly all of them male. "I know that many of you oppose Buffy's plan. It is the natural instinct of this Council, apparently, to oppose any changes in anything at all." He paused to curb his rising irritation. "But lest we all forget – less than a year ago, she saved this entire world." He tried hard not to glare at them. "_Again. _And if not for her, not a single human being - let alone the Council - would exist. We owe her our gratitude and our respect. And this plan…" he tapped the papers in front of him, "is not one I can find fault with. Yes, she is young, and yes, it will be a great responsibility for her to handle, but she will not handle it alone. And in all honesty…"

This time, he did pause to glare at them. "She will do a better job of this than any of us ever could."

**Author's Note:** I've started it off slow, but things will pick up in the next chapter. Reviews welcome.


	2. Occupational Hazards

**Author's Note: **My updates probably won't be this frequent usually, but hopefully this chapter has more to offer than the last one. And remember, reviews are good things. (Well, mostly.)

**Chapter II: Occupational Hazards**

It was, to say the least, impressive.

The building's sizeable (if not vast) proportions were tempered by the sheer elegance of its architecture – of the tapered white columns set equidistant from the mahogany front doors adorned with panes of colored glass at eye level, of the inviting wraparound porch, of the gorgeous fawn-colored brick walls, of the lawns extending on either side for a considerable distance before reaching the wrought iron perimeter fence which rose to nearly twice the height of an ordinary man.

Ah, yes. The fence. It was special. Designed not only to keep out the average intruder, but every _other _kind of intruder - the kind that wouldn't usually be deterred by Mr. Friendly Security Guard's nine millimeter bullets.

"Usually," Xander mused, walking along the pebbled path leading up to the house from the front gates, "right about now some guy looking a lot like Colonel Sanders would be waving a cane at me and telling me to get off his property."

Buffy cast him a speculative glance. "Actually, Xand, these days - what with the Captain Hook-y eye patch and all - you've got just the kind of look that would seriously discourage potential cane wavers."

Xander adjusted the black leather patch covering his left eye, trying not to look embarrassingly pleased. "Yeah? So I've got menace-factor?"

"Big time," Buffy nodded, hiding a grin. They had reached the porch and she stopped dead in her tracks to stare for a painfully long moment at the polished wood of the front doors. "This is really it, isn't it? I'm not, you know, hallucinating due to excessive folic acid intake?"

Xander look at her blankly, then shook his head and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "No. To whatever you just said. This really is it, Buffy."

"And we're ready for this, right?" She was a lot more anxious than he thought she'd be. "We're prepared?"

He smiled. "I'd say no, but the five million hours we've recently spent calling parents, interviewing staff and otherwise behaving in a scarily organized manner would seem to say otherwise." He nudged her. "Not scared, are you?"

"Who, me? Nope. Not scared. Just … gauging. You know."

Xander thought about the approaching autumn term, and a very large mansion full of extraordinarily strong and all too ordinarily hormonal teenage girls. "Oh yeah. I know."

---

"I am not sure I understand. This … is to be our dwelling place?"

Angel sighed, willing himself not to be annoyed at the question. "Temporarily. We need to figure out our next move."

"And could we not do that in a place where there is no plant life growing on the ceiling?" Illyria asked conversationally. She now wore Fred's form almost exclusively, but out of respect for the others' feelings she had altered her hair into ear-length black corkscrew curls and her eyes were a vivid blue, reminiscent of her non-human form.

"What?" Angel's head whipped back and he stared at the large and rather ominous damp patch on the ceiling, where some sort of grey-green moss did indeed seem to be taking root. "Oh. Well, that's just…"

"An occupational hazard?" Gunn offered, looking up from the double-headed axe he was checking for bluntness.

"Yeah, about that? What exactly would our occupation _be_ these days?" Spike gingerly tested the mattress of the least repulsive-looking of four repulsive-looking single beds. "Besides bedbug bait, that is?"

"Look, I know this isn't how we'd all like to be spending our time –"

"What, you mean hiding out in squalid motel rooms home to every kind of creepy crawly known to man and demon while we wait for someone tell us it's safe to come out and play again? Oh no, Peaches, we're having the time of our _lives._"

"What is it with you and the whining?" Angel rounded on his grandchilde, balling his hands into fists. "Because seriously, this boo-hoo-I-saved-the-world-now-where's-my-_medal _attitude you've got is wearing on my last long-suffering nerve, Spike."

Spike, surprisingly enough, contented himself with glowering Angel and then turning away. Gunn looked from the blonde vampire to the dark-haired one and raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly said, _what's with him?_

While they had all suffered during the events of the past few months, Spike seemed to have descended into some kind of extremely sarcastic depressed phase and when he wasn't complaining, he was sitting in sulky silence with his back turned to the others.

Angel would have been concerned, except that he really wasn't.

This was partly because he was too busy worrying about the future, and whether or not any of them they even _had _one. Wolfram and Hart were defeated, but LA was seething with demon activity, with every horned thing within a hundred mile radius wanting to be close to ground zero in case they managed to salvage some remnant of the law firm's infamous resources. And there was, of course, the matter of the hardy handful of them stupid enough to want to challenge the people who managed to bring down the representatives of the mighty Senior Partners.

None of the remaining Fang Gang members were close to being strong enough to face a physical battle – vampiric healing abilities aside, Angel and Spike were still recuperating and trying to get used to having to dodge sunlight again (having grown accustomed to the vampire-friendly windows of the Wolfram and Hart building), Gunn was nursing a nasty wound on his upper arm and at least two fractured ribs, and Illyria was dealing as best she could with her seriously diminished powers and, more painfully, Wesley's death.

So basically, their lives had become a single long waiting game, one they were all growing tired of.

And then came the phone call. And for once – finally – it was good news.


	3. Arrivals

**Author's Note: **First of all - **Queen Boadicea**, although I appreciate your point of view and all, I disagree with pretty much everything you wrote about Spike in your review. I try to write him realistically, but I can't help loving the guy.

In response to **veryblackcat**'s review, I have to admit that pairings are still up in the air at the moment – and so I'm probably going to shamelessly pander to the audience and go with the pairing suggestions that are the most popular. Okay? (coughthat'sacueforreviewscough)

However, I have to point out that I don't plan on bringing anyone back from the dead and extremely unlikely pairings aren't really my thing (so Giles, for example, will _not _be falling in love with Dawn). And **uskohakuchan**, as far as I'm concerned Gunn's feelings for Fred had become purely platonic by the time she died, but he still cared a great deal for her, so although he doesn't _hate _having Illyria around, he's not loving it either.

**Chapter III: Arrivals**

"Remind me – the movers were here for _how _long?"

Even as she said it, Buffy was trying to rearrange her features into an expression a little less awestruck. It wasn't working.

Xander laughed. "Actually, I think the real miracle here is that Giles managed to convince the Council to cough up for all this. That man deserves a blueberry muffin and a gold star."

They both even had their own separate offices, each door sporting a shiny brass plaque with their names on it and, underneath in smaller letters, the word 'Principal'. Buffy ran an appreciative finger over the plaque on her own door before turning the handle and entering the room for the first time. She managed to take one step before being shocked into stillness.

"Surprise?" Willow stood right in front of the desk, head tilted so that her auburn hair cascaded onto one shoulder, eyes shining. "Or did you know I was coming?" Her voice was the same, but … different. A lot of the innocence had been replaced with a deep, knowing calm. Her visit to the astral planes had definitely changed her.

Buffy couldn't find her voice, but it didn't matter because suddenly Willow was hugging her tightly and they were half-laughing, half-crying and trying to speak at the same time. "Your hair," Buffy said finally, pulling back to take some of it between her fingers, "it's longer. And scarily shiny."

"Perk of the whole Wiccan goddess thing," Willow said proudly, but with an obvious smile in her eyes. "The shampoo companies just don't employ the right kind of people."

Buffy nodded sagely to this. "That's what I've always said. So … you're here."

"I _am _here, Buffy. I said I would be." Now it was Willow's turn to step back, and she looked seriously at her best friend. "And…" she paused, hesitating. "Buffy, I know we all keep our little secrets, but is there anything – you know – you'd like to tell me about?"

Buffy's eyes filled and she looked away. "How did you know?"

"It's part of the mojo. _I look on life with eyes immortal._ At least that's what I've been told. Not, you know, that I'm _actually _immortal. Not that there's anything _wrong _with being immortal, it's just… not my thing," she finished lamely. "Which, um, kind of brings up the next question."

"No. It's not him." Willow waited for her best friend to continue the sentence, but it trailed off and she sighed. "Not be Little Miss Nosy Pants here, but this isn't really the kind of thing you should be keeping quiet, Buffy."

Buffy turned to grab her handbag from the desk. "I'm not, Will. I went to a doctor, and she – she gave me these –" she pulled out a white tube full of pills, "and folic acid," she pulled out another set of pills, her hands shaking, "and a lot of supplements and she said… she said I'd be fine. That I could handle it."

And then the Slayer broke down and sobbed. As Willow held her, humming a single soothing note, Buffy spoke into the forgiving wool of her friend's now-damp cardigan. "But I don't think I can, Will."

Her voice dropped and she revealed another secret, more shameful than all the rest. "I'm not even sure I want to."

---

"That's it?" Robin Wood stared at the single, neatly shut black suitcase, one eyebrow raised. "Is the other one invisible, or am I missing something here?"

Faith laughed, suddenly feeling giddy. She came up behind him and reached out to wrap her arms around his chest, face pressed sideways into the familiar solidity of his back. "Why? Were you expecting me to make off with the family jewels?"

"Not all of them. Just one." He picked up her left hand and planted a kiss on the simple band of silver adorning the fourth finger. "And you're more than welcome to it."

---

"You're Dawn Summers, right?" The girl was short, almost impossibly slender and the kind of pale, wispy blonde who doesn't need to dye her hair and probably wouldn't want to anyway. She was also very, very nervous.

Dawn tore her attention away from the conversation she was having with her friends long enough to look up at the girl and, seeing her obvious apprehension, give her a warm smile. "Yup. That would be me. They just couldn't manage to convince me to wear a name tag, because those things are _so _Singles Anonymous. What's your name?"

"I'm Palmer," the girl said, her entire posture now expressing relief. "Palmer Dalton. Sorry for just coming up like this, but I was wondering if I could you ask a few questions? If you're not too busy," she added hurriedly, glancing at the girls Dawn was sitting with.

Dawn saw her glance and laughed. "Um, not unless you count listening to Rona's Chinese supermarket owner story for the fortieth time as being busy. That's her, by the way," she added, pointing briefly at the African-American girl in the seat across, "and this is Vi –" she indicated the pale redhead on her right, who waved cheerily. "And the Dania Ramirez lookalike is Caridad."

The athletic-looking Asian girl sitting next to Rona nodded in Palmer's direction before rounding on Dawn. "For the _last time_ - that Ramirez girl is from some Caribbean island. I'm Filipino! We look _nothing _alike."

Dawn shrugged, mainly to annoy Caridad further. "Whatever. That's the last time I try giving _you _a compliment."

Vi raised her hand in mock eagerness. "Ooh, does that mean the next one's mine?"

Dawn scrutinized her for a moment. "Not sure I'd be able to pull it off, Vi." The others laughed as Vi took off her hat (a fetching pink-and-purple creation) and pretended to stifle her friend with it.

After fighting Vi off with a few wild flails of her arms, Dawn became aware that Palmer was still there, waiting patiently. "God, I'm sorry – I totally need a rudeness check. What did you want to ask?"

"Well," Palmer began hesitantly, "my schedule. It's …" She paused, trying to find the words.

"Kind of freaky?" Dawn supplied. Palmer nodded, adding, "I've never even heard some of these subjects before."

"I know." Dawn grinned. "We had to make up most of them. I mean, okay, Demonology is already a word, but I'm pretty sure it's never been taught in a school before."

"And … are all the teachers …?"

"Human?" Dawn thought about it for a moment. "Some of them. A few." She decided to be more honest. "Or, okay, none that I can think of except Xander, and he's only doing Woodcraft." Prompted by Palmer's blank stare, she explained. "It's like Woodshop classes, but more advanced and, you know, to do with making deadly weapons and protection charms. That sort of thing."

"Anyway, it's not like we could depend on a civilian to teach us anything about," Rona paused to scan her own timetable, "Slayer History, Supernatural Law, Weapons Mastery, Advanced Magick or Combat Training." Rona's take on the word 'civilian' was a normal person who wasn't aware of the existence Slayers or the big bad things they hunted.

"Combat Training is our version of gym class – frequent and compulsory," Dawn explained. "And not everyone takes Advanced Magick – that's Willow's call. If she sees a witchy spark in you, you're in."

"Are you all seniors?" Palmer asked, her tone respectful. Dawn nodded. "But next year we can choose to stay at the school and take college-level classes, like Kennedy's doing, or just attend college and take all the Slayer classes on the side. You're a freshman, right?"

Palmer nodded. "Not sure which dorm I'm in yet, though."

"That'll get sorted out when we arrive," Dawn assured her. She checked her watch. "Which should be in about two hours." The double-decker school bus was moving through Los Angeles on its way to San Diego, and Dawn had only been picked up from her dad's place about fifteen minutes before Palmer had boarded the bus.

The girls now became aware that the bus was slowing down, and there was a sound of rushed footsteps above their heads as the fifty or so girls seated in the top level of the bus moved forward to peer through the windows, while the thirty-odd girls on the first level did exactly the same thing.

"Ewww," Dawn heard one girl whisper to another somewhere to her left, "someone _lives _here?" And though it was nasty thing to say, Dawn had to admit that the run-down motel the bus had stopped in front of was a far cry from the apartment buildings and villas they had picked girls up from so far.

Finally, the girls could see that someone was coming out of the motel and heading towards the bus. More than one someone, in fact – there were four people, although it was hard to get a good look at them since two of them were shielding themselves from the sun with what looked a lot like towels and the other two were walking at some distance behind the others.

But at last they came close enough for Dawn to make out their faces, and she let out what could only be called a piercing squeal. "Ohmygod! Oh my _god_!" She pushed past the nearest flock of girls, earning her quite a few nasty looks, and up to the bus doors.

As soon as they slid open and an extremely familiar figure stepped through them, Dawn flung herself forward and threw her arms around that figure, looking up at him with a megawatt smile lighting her face. "I can't _believe_ this! I didn't even know you were coming!"

Spike got over his own surprise long enough to drop the towel and put an arm around her shoulders, his expression softening into an odd, regretful tenderness as he looked at her. "Hello there, Niblet. Missed me?"

**Author's Note: **Before anyone asks, I'd like to point out that this is officially a Mary-Sue-free fic. I'll make up Slayerette names and faces as I go along, but none of them are headed for Main Character-ness.


	4. Welcome To Summers Academy

**Author's Note: Q.B: **When it comes to the Dawn and Spike scenario, I'd rather have Dawn remembering the good things he did for her than the bad things he did to her sister. Ergo, there is hugging.

**Gottalovethegilmores: **Although the identity of the baby's father is a secret in the fic, it shouldn't be to anyone who's read _Queen of the Slayers_ – it might not be a very_ realistic_ identity, but I liked the idea a lot, so I'm using it here.

**SWChica2005: **I'm glad I'm not the only Spike fan here. :-P And yesh, updates are happening (for better or for worse, lol).

**Chapter IV: Welcome To Summers Academy**

"Thirty-seven seniors, fifty-two juniors, fifty-eight sophomores and," Xander peered at the list in his hands, "sixty-three freshmen."

Buffy tried not to flinch and smoothed down her classy-but-cute black ruffled skirt for the umpteenth time. She was wearing a white V-neck over it, hoping to pass the appearance test of both the girls _and_ the adults. "And how many on the bus? Did the driver get a head count?"

"Eighty-six so far, which leaves us with a hundred and twenty-nine coming in on the train. And yes," he added, before she could ask, "I've called the station, and so far there've been zero delays. They should all be here soon."

Buffy would've preferred to have met with the staff before having to deal with the students, but the LA group (which was how she referred to them in her head, not wanting to go into any mental detail) were coming in on the bus and the other teachers had agreed to take the train and shepherd the girls from the station to the school, so the staff meeting would have to wait. Kennedy and Willow had opted to drive to the station, which left Xander and Buffy in charge of greeting the busload.

They stood outside the front doors, waiting. "I haven't been this nervous since my last fifth grade dance recital," Buffy whispered, trying out different versions of a welcoming expression on her face. In her right hand she held a microphone, aimlessly swinging it back and forth.

"Yeah, because an apocalypse is _nothing _compared to one of those. Wearing a tutu beats fighting evil little uber-powerful ancient vampires hands down," Xander drawled. "And believe me, I would know."

Buffy smiled briefly. "I meant that the Slayer stuff is a whole different kind of nervous. This kind is less adrenaline-inducing and more likely to bring up yesterday's lunch."

"Thanks for the mental image. And Buffy?"

"Yes?"

"If you don't stop with the skirt, there isn't going to be any of it left by the time they get here."

---

The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time the bus pulled up to the school gates, which was a welcome relief to both Spike and Angel.

Gunn swore under his breath, eyes fixed admiringly on the massive school building and the wrought iron gates which were slowly swinging open – apparently of their own accord – to admit the flock of excited girls and their would-be teachers. "Don't even _try_ telling me they didn't have to kill someone to get hold of this place."

Angel, who was stubbornly ignoring the best come-hither glances of the girls standing nearest to him, seized the opportunity to move away from them and towards Gunn.

The despairing look on Angel's face made Gunn laugh. "What's wrong, big guy? Problem with your fan club? 'Cause I'm telling you, all we've gotta do is start charging admission and we'll be up to our eyeballs in cash in no time."

"That's not funny," Angel muttered, starting in shock as one of the girls groped him in passing. He was beginning, subtly, to take on the desperate look of a hunted man. "I didn't think they'd be like this. Are they _supposed _to be like this?"

It had almost been worse on the bus, with girls slipping notes into his pocket with their phone numbers and quite a few adoring messages saying things like "I think you are hawt! Call me! xxx ooo".

Gunn shrugged, stopping to wait for a few cunning stragglers who were making their way up the path behind them as slowly as possible. He had a good idea of the kind of view they were looking for, and it had a lot to do with male behinds and very little to do with greenery.

"Move it along, ladies," he admonished, practicing his best teacher tone. The girls laughed flirtatiously in response and he turned back to Angel, rolling his eyes. "Well, Slayers or no Slayers, this _is _an all-girls' school."

"Meaning what?" Angel prompted, trying to look anywhere but at the petite golden-haired figure he could see waiting on the school's front porch and the taller dark-haired figure standing next to it.

"Meaning that _this_ – " Gunn pointed his thumb at the tall brunette on his right side, who was flipping her hair so energetically that it almost hit him in the face, "is only going to get a _lot _worse."

"At least Spike doesn't seem to mind it," Angel muttered, throwing his grandchilde a dark look.

And Spike did, indeed, seem to be extremely comfortable with his surroundings. He was keeping up four conversations at once, the main one of which was with Dawn, laughing off various not-too-subtle compliments being thrown at him by the boldest girls and letting slip the occasional mild joke (no swearwords, no decapitations) for the sake of the shyer ones, who were listening avidly but unwilling to actually speak to him.

"It's the accent," Gunn asserted. "Girls love a guy with an accent. Besides, it's not like he's ever hated attention."

Illyria was walking near the front of the procession, paying careful attention to the things being said by the multitude of voices. She seemed to be mildly fascinated by the presence of so many young female beings – which she hadn't had much to do with in her lifetime – and completely oblivious to the various less-than-friendly looks she was getting as the students sized up the competition.

They had reached the school and the girls began to form a silent, expectant crowd.

Well, _almost _silent.

"Is that an _eye patch _he's wearing? What's up with that?"

"And oh god, don't tell me that's the Principal. She's younger than my mom!"

"_Everyone_'_s_ younger than your mom," came the quick reply, to a wave of snickers. "And besides, you've gotta love that outfit."

"Totally. I think I saw that skirt at Neiman Marcus last week. It _so_ didn't come cheap."

At this point, Buffy cleared her throat into the microphone she was holding and smiled tentatively at the gathered crowd. "Hello," she said experimentally. The girls waited.

And then, seeing that Buffy was too nervous to continue, they prodded each other. "_Hello!_" they roared back.

There was a chorus of giggles and the occasional whoop, and suddenly Buffy realized something.

She could do this. Because there was a crowd of faces turned towards her, and none of those faces were hostile.

She cleared her throat again, and when she spoke both her voice and her smile were stronger. "Welcome to Summers Academy. My name is Buffy Summers, and I'm one of the Principals here. The other one is this guy over here - Xander Harris." Buffy paused as the girls cheered again, to Xander's intense satisfaction. "If you'd all like to come up to the third floor auditorium, we can wait for the other students to arrive and then I'll explain what this place is all about."

Not seeming to mind her lack of formality, the girls gave her a scattered but enthusiastic round of applause before surging towards the front doors, propelling Angel, Spike, Gunn and Illyria along with them so that none of them got close enough to either Buffy or Xander to speak.

"Bugger," Spike swore softly, turning back to watch the Slayer disappear from view as the crowd moved forward.

---

By the time Willow and Kennedy had arrived with the remaining students and teachers, the group from the bus had managed to settle into the best seats in the auditorium and were talking admiringly about what they'd seen of the school so far. "This place is like some sort of castle," one girl whispered to another, her tone awed. "I mean, just sitting in this room is like being in the opera."

Her friend nodded, sighing in satisfaction as she leaned further back into her chair. The auditorium was extremely roomy, with a high ceiling and at least three hundred seats arranged in ascending semi-circles so that everyone had a clear view of the wide stage at the front.

It was more reminiscent of a movie theatre than an opera, except that the chairs were covered in plush crimson velvet and the entire auditorium, including the stage, was lit effortlessly by golden-rimmed ceiling lights, giving everything inside a radiant glow. "I could definitely get used to this."

Once everybody had found a seat, Xander took the stage. "Hey," he said into the microphone, as casually as possible. "Principal Harris here." He grinned, deciding he liked the sound of his new title.

"I know you've all had a long journey, so we're going to keep this brief. The first floor, as you've probably already seen, is where most of the learning takes place. It's where you'll find the schoolrooms, the offices and the cafeteria. Student dorms are on the second floor. Eleven corridors, five rooms to a corridor, four girls to a room. Seniors get to pick their own rooms, the rest of you will find your names and room numbers posted on the Dorms list. Okay?" Most of the girls were nodding appreciatively at this rapid-fire stream of information and he grinned at them.

"Okay. Besides the auditorium, the third floor contains your common rooms. That's a funky boarding school way of saying living room. There are six of those. It's where you can hang out during your free time – and trust me, you'll find plenty to do in there. Now, the fourth floor…" he paused until he was sure he had their full attention. "The fourth floor is completely off-limits to students. You don't even need to know what's up there."

He waited for the chorus of boos and disappointed "awww!"s to die down. "Woodcraft classes, Music classes and Combat Training classes will all be taken in the basement, which is nothing at all like the way it sounds. If you feel like getting some fresh air, you're free to wander outside on our larger-than-average lawns and in the greenhouse, as long as you don't upset the gardener by touching anything in there."

He paused again and his voice took on a more serious tone. "However, you're not allowed outside school grounds, and believe me when I say you don't even wanna _try _getting past that fence."

There was a hush as this sank in, with at least half of the girls quietly resolving to climb over the fence at the first best opportunity. Xander stepped aside to rousing applause and Buffy took his place, giving him a furtive thumbs-up with her hand behind her back.

"Well, that about covers it. You'll all be introduced to your new teachers tomorrow, and we're expecting you to get a good night's sleep so you can show up to your classes punctual, bright-eyed and perky." She smiled to indicate just how likely she thought this was. "Until lights-out – which is at ten p.m. sharp, by the way – you're free to look around."

"But before you go, I'd like to remind you all of why you're here." Her tone softened, becoming more serious, more purposeful. "You're not ordinary girls." There were a lot of knowing laughs at this, and then the girls settled down to do some real listening. "You're the Slayers. Humanity's first, last and only line of defense against the kind of evil we all know is out there. Demons will fear you. Big bad things will run from you." In the soft lighting, her eyes gleamed.

"I expect you all to be responsible, because the lives of others depend on you. I expect you to be strong, because only strength will help you face everything that comes with the Slayer package. And most of all, I expect you to be proud, because you are the Chosen. You are Vampire Slayers."

This time, the cheers were deafening.

**Author's Note (post-update): **I only realized that I'd completely forgotten about juniors after reading **gottalovethegilmores**' review. Problem fixed, but boy do I feel stupid. :-P


	5. Interlude

**Chapter V: Interlude**

"Tell me I'm not in Heaven."

Dawn lay on her back, eyes closed, on one of the four gorgeous beds in the room she had chosen with Vi, Caridad and Rona. They had been the earliest group to arrive on the third floor after assembly in the auditorium and had chosen 1C – corridor 1, room C – for its view, since in other respects it was identical to the other rooms in the corridor.

Caridad walked over to unceremoniously drop Dawn's overnight bag onto her stomach. "You're not in Heaven."

Dawn didn't bother to open her eyes or move the bag. "Nope. Not convincing enough." She squinted towards the other side of the room. "Rona?"

"If you were in Heaven," the dark-skinned Slayer stated solemnly, "you wouldn't be sharing a bathroom with three other people."

Dawn laughed and wriggled into a more upright position on the bed. "Yup, that did it. Nice work."

Rona shrugged. "No one can crush a delusion quite like I can. It's a gift."

"Yeah, and one we're going to need," Caridad said dryly. "This place is becoming Delusion Central. Suddenly every girl with a pair of eyes is 'in looove'. With _teachers_. It's beyond creepy."

"Well, I don't know," Vi grinned, "you can't really blame them for it. They're extremely good-looking for, you know, undead guys."

"Gunn is human," Dawn pointed out. She paused. "Well. Almost definitely human."

"Look it up and get back to me," Vi said. "Point is, they're not evil. And that's a major plus right there."

"The way things are shaping up, I don't think anybody would care if they _were _evil," Caridad countered, her tone disgusted. "And these are the girls who are meant to be keeping the world safe."

"I think the real question is – who's going to keep the world safe from _them_, hmm?" Dawn waggled her eyebrows suggestively and was rewarded with a whack on the side of her head from Caridad's pillow. "Ow! Why am I always the one getting hit?"

"Because you don't hit back?" Vi offered.

"That's because she _can't_," Rona stage-whispered, one hand covering her mouth to hide a smile. "The poor thing." They were forever teasing Dawn about her lack of Slayer strength, now that she had learned to laugh about it.

Dawn's eyes narrowed and she grabbed her own pillow. "All right, that's it! Slayers or no Slayers, you're all going down!"

---

The plaque on the door read Staff Lounge, and for once the word "lounge" wasn't being used ironically. Brand-new soft leather seating, an interior so beautiful it may well have straight come out of a catalogue, shelves stacked high with magazines, state-of-the-art coffee, espresso and cappuccino machines and a well-stocked snack bar made it without a doubt the most luxurious staff room in America.

The Council had however drawn the line at putting in either a TV or a mini-bar, despite Xander's assurances that it would help the teachers do their jobs better.

It didn't take long for Spike, Angel, Gunn and Illyria to get settled in the room. The door soon opened again to admit Willow, Xander and Faith, and there was an interlude of awkward small talk before Buffy arrived, bringing a two newcomers with her.

The first person to follow her in was an unremarkable woman – fairly pale, medium height, curvy build, with light brown hair caught back tightly in a bun at the base of her neck, wearing a highly conservative dark outfit and flat shoes. Spike took one look at her, grinned and thought, _Watchers' Council_.

The next was definitely a familiar face. Willow was the first to greet him with an excited squeal of "Oz!" and a hug, and then the other Scooby Gang members took it in turns to either shake his hand or hug him. Oz being Oz, he smiled at them, said hello quietly and then sat down in the nearest seat.

Buffy cleared her throat and turned to introduce the newcomers. "Um, I think we all know Oz. He's agreed to be our Music teacher for the coming year. And Melinda Harper is our resident Watcher – she's here to keep an eye on us on behalf of the Giles crew." She smiled furtively at the plump woman's offended expression. Clearly, she wasn't expecting the Council to be referred to so flippantly. "She's also going to teach History. We should have a few more new teachers coming in later this year, but for now," she indicated the group assembled in the room, "this is it." She had already handed around the list of subject names and teachers, just so that everyone was familiar with what the others were doing.

Slayer History was being handled by Buffy and Faith; Supernatural Law by Gunn; Weapons Mastery by Faith and Gunn; Demonology by Angel and Illyria; Woodcraft by Xander; Advanced Magick by Willow and Combat Training was Spike's department – although the others would co-teach the combat sessions by rotation – since he was the only one who had actually defeated two Slayers in battle.

---

**Author's Note: **Really short chapter, but there hasn't been much time to work on it and I just wanted to establish the different staff members (or most of them, anyways) before moving on with the story.


	6. Spaces For The Living And The Dead

**Author's Note: **(Or, you know, **Review Replies**. Whatever.)

**Q.B: **I went with the "prissy frump" template for Melinda Harper partly because she's supposed to be a representative from an organization specializing in both prissiness and frump and partly because I didn't want to be accused of writing an unrealistic Watcher. Still, I've got two words for you: _character_ _development_.

**mendenbar: **Angel isn't teaching Art because I've already got an Art teacher lined up. Also, somehow I don't see any of your pairing suggestions happening in this fic, except maybe Xander/Buffy. (I've especially never been able to understand the whole Wingel thing). And since it's never been confirmed that Angelus killed a Slayer, or even defeated one in battle, as far as I'm concerned he hasn't.

**Allen Pitt: **Who said anything about Spike being a better fighter than Angel? And I still haven't got around to having _any _of the characters react to each other yet, but even when I do I doubt the Council's apprehensions about Illyria will take center stage. I'd like to think she's been humanized quite a lot since NFA, and definitely since her first appearance on the show. If you have to, think of her as an AU Illyria.

**Lavell13**: Yes, it was. At one point it was a smoke-blackened, totally explodinated ruin. And now it's not. The wonders of artistic license and paying attention to _Angel _season five, eh?

**gottalovethegilmores**:Yup, normal classes are included in the Academy package deal, but not until I've had some fun with the Slayer classes first. And ha, cozy non-Watchers'-Council-funded teachers' lounges? If only.

**physicsteach**: I'm not sure what an exposition is and I have no idea how you frame it, but judging by the rest of the review it was a compliment, so thanks.

**Yoda1976**: I've already mentioned this, but I'm not excluding the Xander/Buffy option from the possible pairings list, so we'll see.

**Sarksgrl04**/**cereza**/**SWChica2005**/**reron7**/**MidnyteRayne**/**ndhbfan**: I love you guys. No, seriously. I do.

---

**Chapter VI: Spaces For The Living (And The Dead) **

It wasn't what they were expecting.

They were apartments. Gorgeous, fully furnished, straight-out-of-_House Beautiful_ apartments. Each apartment boasted four bedrooms (one of which was intended as a guest room), a fully equipped kitchen and dining area, a comfortable living room, and of course a bathroom. Faith stepped in through the nearest of four open doorways and looked up, admiring the impressively long distance from the top of her head to the arched ceiling.

"_This_ is the secret fourth floor? You've gotta be kidding me! Are you kidding me?" she demanded, turning to Xander, who raised his hands defensively.

"Hey, this was all Buffy's idea, I swear. I voted for a bunch of sleeping bags on the basement floor and a plastic bucket, but apparently that wouldn't go down too well with the Teachers' Union." He shrugged. "So we're all just going to have to settle for this."

"A plastic bucket? What –" And then Willow suddenly realized. "Oh. _Oh_. Eww."

"Hey, if it was good enough for our forefathers, it's good enough for us," Xander said staunchly.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but no one ever really fancied that whole outdoor water closet thing." Spike was inspecting the contents of the fridge in the nearest apartment's kitchen, looking for some kind of alcohol. Any kind would do, really. "What with the flies and the cholera risk, and then of course the smell –"

"Ugh – Spike! No need for details." Buffy spoke quickly, almost automatically. She didn't expect him to turn around. She didn't expected his eyes to settle on her face and linger there for far longer than necessary. And above all, she didn't expected his smile. She wasn't prepared for it.

Spike, in all honesty, hadn't been expecting any of those things either. But her face had been wearing that little grimace he remembered so well – nose all wrinkled up while her eyes laughed, caught somewhere between disgust and amusement – and it had made him forget that his gaze might be causing her discomfort. He was reminded abruptly by the awkward tilt of her mouth as the grimace faded, and he instantly turned his attention back to the fridge. "Sorry, love. Just thought I'd clear that up, is all."

"Like anybody needs to be reminded of how crappy y'all had it back in the Dark Ages," Gunn grumbled. "I swear, if Angel tells me one more story about the bubonic plague…"

"Okay, first of all, I missed the Dark Ages by almost a century. And secondly, you asked about it," Angel reminded him, offended.

Or at least, a small part of Angel did. The rest of him was busy trying to analyze the odd expression on Buffy's face. There was something there that vaguely unsettled him, something that he refused to connect with Spike on the simple principle that his grandchilde didn't deserve it. Never had, never would.

"I ask _one _question, so it's my fault that you go on for an hour and a half? Sure, lay it on the black man."

"Guys," Faith interrupted, "could we focus on what's important here?" She crossed her arms and waited until the others turned to look at her. Then she grinned. "Who's rooming with who?"

"Well," Buffy responded, "we haven't exactly drawn up a teacher version of the Dorms list or anything, if that's what you mean. It's pretty much a free choice deal."

"Free choice? You mean within gender limitations, I'm sure." Melinda Harper had been silent ever since they left the teachers' lounge, narrowly observing the interactions of the other teachers, although without going so far as to actually take notes. After all, she would be writing a report later anyway. "I hardly think any other arrangement would set an appropriate example to the students."

"Of course," Buffy agreed cautiously. "That, um, makes sense."

"So, I'm thinking we split into twos and threes?" Xander waited for Buffy to nod before turning to Oz.

"Whaddaya say, wolf-man? Feeling like sharing a living space with your old one-eyed pal?"

Oz grinned, lifting his guitar case in mock-salute. "Sure thing, captain. Lead the way."

"I've got Buffy, of course." Willow smiled at her, and then turned hesitantly to Faith. "And…?"

Faith shook her head. "That would leave Miss Harper," she gave the Watcher a lingering not-too-friendly glance, "with E.T.'s mother over here, and somehow I'm thinking that wouldn't work out."

"You refer to me?" Illyria asked. "Who is this E.T.?"

Faith laughed. "See? We're bonding already."

Buffy tried not to look too disappointed at the prospect of living with Melinda Harper, reminding herself that Willow's presence would more than make up for it. "All right then, that's settled."

"Oh no." Angel crossed his arms resolutely. "I'm not living with Spike."

"Feeling's mutual. Rather have my hands cut off again than have to deal with his sodding mood swings all hours of the day."

"_My _mood swings? You've spent the last six months sulking, and you want to talk about mood _my_ swings?"

"Not really, but seeing as how it happens to be the current topic of conversation..."

"All right, we get it. Angel plus Spike equals bickering." Xander sounded unusually irritated. "So which one of you dead boys is moving in with us?"

Spike sighed. "Might as well be me."

"Fine." Buffy attempted a general, not-aimed-at-anyone-in-particular smile. "Oz, Xander and Spike in apartment number 1, Gunn and Angel in 2, me and Will – and Miss Harper – will take 3, which leaves Faith and Illyria in 4. So if everybody could just grab their luggage from that impressively big pile over there, we can move on to the part of the day where we all get some sleep."

"Hate to be the bringer of whiney news here Slayer, but that's a little hard to do while you're worrying about waking up on _fire_."

"All the windows in this building are necrotempered glass." Surprisingly, it was Melinda who answered Spike. Her face expressed extreme distaste, although it was hard to tell whether this was due to Spike or the windows. "Rupert Giles insisted on it."

"Oh. Well that's all right, then." Spike hoisted a well-worn black sports bag out from among the other luggage piled in the hallway. "See you in the morning, kiddies."

---

It didn't take long for Melinda Harper to get settled into her new bedroom, but Willow and Buffy waited until all sounds of movement from within had ceased and the door had been tightly locked before tiptoeing into the kitchen (which was the farthest room from Miss Harper's except for the bathroom).

They couldn't find any ice cream, so they settled for a mug of hot chocolate each. Willow was just stirring the powder in when there was a faint but distinctive knock on the front door. Buffy signaled at her to keep still and crept up to the door, which they had thankfully remembered to lock and bolt. The entire school building was protected by more high-tech alarm systems and magickal defenses than Buffy cared to count, but it never paid to be lax about security. They had all been forced to learn that the hard way in the past.

There was a second knock. "B? Are you gonna open up or what?"

Buffy exhaled in relief and let Faith in. "About time," the brunette grumbled. "I was starting to think you guys had nodded off."

"Nope. We were just getting ready for some serious chocolate-and-marshmallow action. Feel like joining in?"

"Hell yeah." Faith slipped into the nearest free seat at the kitchen table while Willow pulled down a third mug. "Next best thing to booze after a day like this."

"Tell me about it. I'm still in shock that it all went off so well. I was expecting at least one demon attack, or maybe a fire – you know, some kind of general chaos-themed event."

"That could still happen," Faith told her comfortingly. "I mean, before you know it we'll be fighting some ugly Hell-dimension spawn to keep it from eating our faces."

"Or sucking out our souls," Willow volunteered, settling into the seat next to Buffy. "Now that everybody's got one."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me – how are you feeling 'bout having both your undead ex-boy toys running around?"

Buffy didn't answer for a moment. She could tell that, inelegant choice of words aside, Faith was as concerned as Faith could be. So she decided to be honest. "Not good," she told her. "I mean, I know it was all a long time ago –"

"Not that long," Willow interjected gently. "Especially not by their timescale."

Buffy shook her head. "Long enough, Will. I shouldn't be feeling … anything … about either of them any more. And I wish I didn't, but…" she shrugged. "One of them will say something, or move a certain way, and I'll remember… things. Things I can't seem to forget." She fell silent, and Willow leaned across to give her a quick hug.

Faith, not being the hugging type, decided to change the subject. "What about you, Red? Isn't your girl supposed to be living up here?"

Willow shook her head. "Not yet. We thought it would be better if she stay in the dorms at first to help out with the younger girls. And besides, we're not sure how well having Kennedy around would go down with Miss Harper."

"Screw her. She's not the one running this place – that's B's job. If she doesn't like it, she can hit the road."

"It's not that easy. The Watchers' Council set all this up, but most of them aren't happy about it and they're starting to grumble about Giles being in charge," Buffy explained. "So he let them pick the representative to send over here, as a gesture of non-Mussolini-ness."

"So they sent the driest stick they could find, because she'd paint the worst picture possible?" Faith shook her head and drained the last of her hot chocolate. "Good ol' Council. Glad to know it hasn't changed."

Now it was Willow's turn to change the subject. "So, you haven't filled in on what you've been doing yet. How are things with Robin?"

Faith smiled – a happy, glowing, very un-Faith-like smile. "Better than expected," she said slowly, prolonging the surprise. Then she lifted her left hand to show them the gleaming ring. "We're getting married."

---

**Author's Note: **Arrgh. I had been planning on making more stuff actually _happen_ in this chapter, but it ended up being a dialogue-fest instead. :-P I'll make up for it next time, promise.


	7. Hunger

This time, I'm just going to call them **Review Replies**:

**AscaDuin**: Thanks. Faith is relatively easy to write. :-P I haven't got round to any more roommate-type interactions in this chapter, but hopefully I'll fit them into the next one.

**gottalovethegilmores**:Actually, it's nice apartments and weapons storage, since I figured Buffy wouldn't want them on a floor that students had access to. Thanks for the definition – I would've looked it up myself, except I had a bad case of plain old laziness.

**Queen Boadicea**: Dirty sex didn't make up their entire relationship. 90 percent of it, maybe, but I still think it went deeper than either of them was willing to admit. So be warned, this thing might still go BS.

**veryblackcat**: Yay, reader love. :-D I agree, Faith deserves to be happy, especially after years of single-ness. I've actually considered having Spike run a poetry club, but definitely not a regular poetry class.

**uskohakuchan**: I used to be a huge (anti-BS) BA fan, but now I'm on the fence – which is probably why I can't fix on pairings for this fic yet.

**SWChica2005**: Aw, thank you. I actually think BX is a more realistic pairing in some ways than BA or BS, seeing as how Xander's known Buffy longer and more intimately (in a non-physical sense) than either Angel or Spike, and unlike them he's never left her.

**Chapter VII: Hunger **

The students were ready.

After the initial flurry following the entrance of the twenty seniors who would be taking first period Demonology that day, complete silence reigned in classroom number seven. Some of the Slayers looked straight ahead at the wall-to-wall blackboard, others inspected their fingernails, but all of them waited with relative patience for their teacher to arrive. They waited quietly, in fact, for thirteen minutes and thirty-two seconds.

They waited a little less quietly after that.

A girl in the back row with dramatic makeup and an abundance of dark hair piled on top of her head was especially loud when it came to voicing her annoyance. "God, what a waste of time. Where the hell do they get off making us wait here?"

Dawn wasn't happier than anyone else about the situation, but the girl's tone was overly arrogant and it got on her nerves. "Hey, newsflash," she said, turning around in her seat to face her. "Whining about it isn't helping."

The girl's expression hardened as she recognized Dawn. "Oh look – it's little Princess Summers." She leaned forward and her tone became venomous. "If _I_ was a weak-ass non-Slayer who's only here because my sister runs the school, I wouldn't be talking as much, Summers. I would be minding my own business, just in case a _real _Slayer decided to teach me some manners."

Rona spun around in her seat so quickly it was a miracle she didn't snap something. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Yes," Caridad said, standing up slowly, "repeat that."

"Why would I?" the girl sneered. None of her brashness had subsided, despite the prospect of a three-on-one fight. If nothing else, she was stupidly brave.

"Because if we heard you wrong," Rona explained, "we'd feel really bad about kicking your ass."

"It would be such a waste of time, too," Caridad added. "So I'll you what – you apologize, and we can all get back to … 'minding our own business'." Her tone was coldly derisive. "Okay?"

The girl actually laughed. "So the Princess has bodyguards, does she? God, Summers, could you _be_ any more pathetic?"

Dawn had no answer to this. Any other line of attack would have been easy to handle, but the girl's jibes hit home. It was exactly what she would torture herself with when her friends weren't around to take her mind off it – whether or not she deserved to be at the Academy, and how, no matter how hard she trained, she would never have the strength of a Slayer.

She could be _like_ them, but she could never be one of them. She had told herself all these things more than once, but hearing it from someone else was worse. It hurt more.

"Aw, is the little Princess going to cry? I'd give you a hanky, except I wouldn't want to catch –"

"_Shut up_." Suddenly the girl found her left arm caught in a grip like a vice and she was forced out of her chair, shoved none-too-gently towards the front of the classroom and made to stand directly in front of Dawn's desk. "Now, say sorry to the Ni– to Dawn."

The girl had barely started to clench her right fist before Spike increased the pressure on her arm. "Don't even think about it, love. You're lucky I've got this far without breaking something."

The girl rapidly weighed her options before apologizing through clenched teeth and Spike nodded, satisfied.

Then he spun her around to face the back entrance to the classroom, where the other half of the senior class – who had been in Combat Training with Spike until one of the first period Demonology students had come running downstairs to tell him that their teacher was missing – were watching avidly.

"Like I was explaining before," Spike said nonchalantly, "the upper-arm vice grip can be a very effective method of persuasion. Now, who wants to try it?"

---

"He did _what_?" Buffy willed herself to believe that she had heard the freckle-faced senior wrong, but she knew better. "On second thought, don't answer that. Just tell me where he is."

"He's taken everyone down to the basement. Said they might as well be where he could keep his eye on them, or else they'd probably be burning the place down before the morning was over." Leanne Hayes was stifling a giggle at the memory of everything she'd decided to leave out in her repetition of Spike's colorful speech.

Buffy sighed and signaled furtively to Faith, who was patiently guiding the thirty sophomores in first period Slayer History through chapter one of their textbooks.

"What's up?" Faith asked, giving Leanne a brief glance before turning to Buffy. "We got trouble?"

"I'm not sure yet. Angel never showed up for his class, so now Spike's got all the seniors doing Combat Training in the basement. And somehow, Dawn got into a fight –"

"No way, B. Dawnie wouldn't start a rumble in class."

"I'm not saying she started it, but she was definitely involved, although apparently none of it got physical until Spike showed up."

Faith snorted. "Big freakin' surprise. So what's the damage control plan?"

"I need to find Angel before I can deal with Spike. I'll check the apartments first and then work my way down. Can you keep the class going?"

"No problem," Faith assured her. Buffy smiled briefly, sent Leanne back to the basement with the strict order to tell Faith – or Gunn, whose classroom was just around the corner – if anything else happened, and then made her way up to the fourth floor.

---

She found the door to apartment number two unlocked. "Angel?" She knocked hard a few more times before slowly pushing the door open. She couldn't hear any movement inside. "Angel?"

The living room and kitchen were both empty. She did a quick check of the bathroom – also empty – and then moved on to the bedrooms, trying to quell her rising worry. The first two were empty, and there was an unmade bed and an open suitcase which she recognized as being Gunn's in the third.

That left the fourth door, and she only knocked twice before opening it, her worry having gradually grown into fear. "Angel?"

At first she couldn't see him; the blinds were down and the curtains were drawn, unnecessarily enough. But he was there. He lay on the bed, dark hair messy, eyes shut, unmoving and apparently asleep. He was also shirtless, and after a minute or two Buffy managed to avert her eyes from his chest.

She approached reluctantly. She was almost afraid to wake him; it had been so very long since she'd seen him like this. In his sleep, Angel could almost pass for a man – there was something inexpressibly vulnerable in the way his body lay sprawled among tangled sheets, and in the shifting expressions on his face as dreams came and went. While he slept, it was very difficult to tell that his heart didn't beat.

Rallying against the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her, Buffy moved closer until she was standing barely an inch away from the edge of the bed. She bent over cautiously to look at his face, which seemed even paler than usual. "Angel?" Her fear quickened as she noticed the sweaty sheen of his skin.

"Angel, wake up. Angel!" She lowered a faintly trembling hand to his shoulder, shoving at it gently with her palm. "Come on, Angel, wake up. I know you're not sick. You _can't _get sick, it's not in the vampire package."

Finally, there was the barest flickering of his eyelids and a faint groan. It took a few tries before he managed to speak. "Buffy?"

She felt almost ridiculously elated. "Yeah. I'm right here. And you're alive – or, you know, in the vampire sense of the word 'alive'. Thankfully." She swallowed hard to keep from babbling. "Are you okay?"

Angel opened his eyes as far as he could manage, and the closeness of her face to his caused a sudden painful ache in his chest. He fought the urge to reach up and touch her. "Fine. Just… really tired."

She was puzzled. "But you've been asleep for hours." It was only when his gaze slid, almost against his will, to her throat and lingered there longingly that she realized what was wrong. "When was the last time you fed?"

Angel tried to shake his head. "Can't remember. A while. I kept … forgetting to."

"And motels don't exactly stock blood in the mini bar." Buffy sighed and stood up. "Wait here."

He actually laughed, albeit weakly. "Shouldn't be too hard."

---

The cafeteria was empty, but Buffy found the kitchen bustling with activity as the lunch ladies hired by the Watchers' Council – all of whom had some experience in dealing with the supernatural, and almost half of whom had some kind of psychic ability that made them wary of working in places where everyone else was 'normal' – were preparing lunch.

Buffy tapped the nearest one on the shoulder. "Um, excuse me? Do you know where I could find some blood?"

The woman looked faintly surprised. "What kind of blood, dear?"

"Pig's blood, preferably. It's for one of the teachers," she explained, wondering whether she should have introduced herself.

"We weren't aware that there were any vampires on the staff," the woman said, "but I'm sure we've got some pig's blood around here somewhere."

Buffy waited until the woman returned with a clear plastic bag full of blood, which she considerately emptied into a large thermos, before asking an obvious question. "Why – I mean, Giles told me that most of you can work some kind of mind mojo – so why haven't you sensed them?"

"Oh no, we need to be at least in the same room with them before we can do that. We're no shamans." The woman smiled. "Just your regular run-of-the mill psychics. You know – a vision of the future here, a mind reading there. Nothing special."

"And nobody from the Council told you anything about keeping a regular supply of blood?"

The woman shook her head. "No, honey. We would've brought some to the teachers' lounge and up to the apartments, otherwise. Which ones are they in?" Buffy told her, and the woman wrote it down, assuring her with a smile that they'd have full thermoses sent up by the end of the day. Buffy thanked her and left.

---

"They did it on purpose! And I'll bet you anything that creepy Harper woman had something to do with it. I'm calling Giles as soon as it's a decent not-the-middle-of-the-night type time over there. She's not staying."

She sat on the edge of Angel's bed as he drained the last of the blood, dividing his attention between the drink and her rant. When he was finished he put away the thermos and sat up, slowly but with relative ease. "Buffy. Relax. Even if they did do it on purpose, they know as well as anyone that starvation can't kill us."

"No, just completely incapacitate you." She was still seething. "Although of course, if you'd remembered to feed earlier, it wouldn't have been as bad."

"So suddenly it's my fault?" He feigned a look of hurt innocence. "And I thought I was the victim here."

She smacked his arm lightly. "Keep talking and you will be." They smiled at each other, eyes locking in mutual amusement that gradually gave way to something else. Something painful.

Buffy was the first to look away. "I'll, um, get someone to cover your classes until you're ready."

He caught her hand as she got up to leave. "Thank you."

She let her hand rest in his for a long moment before pulling away. "You're welcome. Just make sure you get your strength back."

She paused at the door to look back at him, a teasing half-smile on her face. "After all, I'd really hate to have to fire you."

---

**Author's Note**: Another short one, but it's more than nothing. :-P I demand reviews!


	8. Friday Night Is Movie Night

**Author's Note**:I'm not going to do review replies anymore, since I seem to end up devoting most of them to defending what I've written and/or my opinions. I still want to thank everyone who took the time to review, though.

**Chapter VIII: Friday Night Is Movie Night**

"I don't give a damn about what she said!"

Buffy forced herself to calm down – or at least level her tone to something resembling calm. "You have _no _right to even_ touch_ any of those girls, Spike. She could have used every swearword in the book and you _still _wouldn't have that right."

"Stop _emphasizing_ things, Slayer, I get the bloody point. So you're saying I should've just let her –"

"Yes! If you hadn't gotten involved, she'dbe the one dealing with the consequences right about now. And believe it or not, Dawn can fight her own battles."

"She shouldn't have to. Not yet."

"She's almost eighteen! She's been through, what, two or three apocalypses? She can _handle_ a wannabe bully. I'm only going to say this once: unless you're showing them a new throw technique or whatever, I don't want to see the _shadow _of a finger anywhere near a student. Try it and you're out. Understood?"

"Aye aye, Fuhrer."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Can I get back to doin' my job now?"

Buffy conquered the urge to reply and gestured silently at the door of the teachers' lounge. As soon as it had shut behind him she exhaled and collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Xander, who didn't have any classes scheduled for that period, handed her a mug of coffee and sat down next to her. "Bad day?"

"Bad _week._ Giles managed to convince the Harper woman to fly over to deliver her first report to him personally, but he says he can't get her replaced without ruffling some serious Council-y feathers. Illyria couldn't be more of a teaching disaster, so Angel might be handling all their classes on his own. I haven't been able to talk to Dawn since before term started, and…" Buffy very briefly considered telling him about the stomach-churning morning sickness she'd been experiencing lately. "And the housekeepers still haven't arrived," she finished.

"It could be worse," Xander pointed out darkly. "There could be more than one Harper running around."

"Harper twins?" Buffy shuddered. "Thanks a lot, Xan. There's enough nightmare fuel to keep me up for at least two nights."

"At least it'll keep your mind off other things for a while." He grinned. "And besides, you're taking all of this way too seriously. I mean, think about it. I'm co-Principal, right?" He paused long enough for her to agree. "So if anything goes wrong and, say, a mob of angry pitchfork-carrying parents decide to storm the school, they'll be out for my blood just as much as yours."

Buffy laughed, sending her mouthful of coffee down the wrong way. And oddly, despite the highly embarrassing coughing fit that followed, she felt a lot better. At least for a while.

---

"Focus." Willow sat cross-legged on one of the large cushions provided exclusively for her classroom, extending her arm until the palm of her hand was directly above the smooth, round stone she had placed on the floor. "Remember to keep your breathing regular."

Twelve girls from various age groups sat in a wide semi-circle, all adapting a pose more or less identical to Willow's. A few of them had initially closed their eyes, but she had reminded them gently that this wasn't a meditation class and they needed to keep their eyes open if they wanted to be in control of what they were doing. She had realized early on that most of these girls had never practiced magick before and some of them had some strange preconceptions of what it would be like. A common question during the first class had been, 'When do we get our wands?'

"Focus on that stone, and your breathing, and my voice. Nothing else matters. Now, bring it up to your hand." Willow lifted her own hand to demonstrate, and the girls watched as the stone rose slowly through the air.

Three of the girls succeeded easily in lifting their stones, five of them managed to move theirs but were unable to lift them from the floor, and four achieved no result at all. Willow smiled patiently and told them that telekinesis was one of the most difficult things they would have to learn.

"Spells are easier to perform, but they could get you in a lot more trouble as a novice," she explained. "Don't expect it to come all at once. It's kind of like learning to swim – you need to splash around and embarrass yourself in the shallow pool before you can go anywhere near the deep end."

The girls seemed to appreciate this, but she could still see a lot of disappointed faces as they filed out of the class. After the last one had left she was surprised to see Angel standing in the doorway. She greeted him with a smile, but he seemed nervous.

"Can I, uh, talk to you about something?"

She was even more surprised by this, but tried not to show it. "Yeah, sure. You can come in while I put this stuff away. Or not," she amended hurriedly, "if you'd rather, you know, talk somewhere else."

"No, this is fine." He paused to try to phrase his next sentence, but then decided to just plunge in. "I kind of need a favor. Or actually, I need you to ask Buffy for a favor, since you probably have more pull with her than I do."

"Oh no," Willow assured him, "you have plenty of pull. It's not like you're a stranger or anything."

Angel shifted uncomfortably. "No," he agreed slowly, "but the person I need the favor for kind of is. And… I'm not sure she'll be too happy about it."

"What – the favor or the fact that it's for a stranger?" Willow asked, confused.

Angel sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Both."

---

"Nacho cheese flavored Doritos?"

Oz picked up one of the many bowls crowded onto the living room coffee table. "Check."

"Chinese takeout?"

Gunn put down the phone receiver and flashed a double thumbs-up. "On its way."

"M&M's? Popcorn? At least a dozen cold ones?"

"Check, check, and check." Buffy grinned. "And since that wraps up the entire list, can we please get started now? We've gotten through the first week of term without any accidental deaths, we should be celebrating already."

Xander gave her a stern look with his good eye over the edge of his clipboard. "You can't have a decent Horror Movie Night without the right equipment. That would be –"

"'Wrong on several different levels'," Faith mimicked, rolling her eyes. "We know, Xan-man. Let's get on with the heckling already."

"Hey, we're not just here to heckle," Xander protested. "We can all learn something from these movies."

"That a really high body count can't hide a tacky plotline?" Buffy said innocently.

"And that any honey who spends her time snackin' on newborns is bad news?" Gunn offered.

"Oh, and if a juniper bush starts doing some serious growlin', you should probably get rid of it," Faith added sagely.

"_Night Of The Living Lawn Gnomes_?" Oz asked, curious.

"Nope." Faith popped a handful of Skittles into her mouth. "Personal experience."

"A possessed garden plant? Really?" Buffy was impressed. "Don't think I've ever had to deal with anything quite that bizarre."

"Take that back, or I start listing 'em," Xander threatened. "In detail. Anyone want to hear about the giant-praying-mantis-disguised-as-a-teacher incident again?"

"Okay, okay." Buffy feigned alarm. "I take it back. Just don't go there."

"Is it just me, or is it really sad that we're spending a Friday night like this?" Gunn asked conversationally.

"Oh please, like Friday nights at old Wolfram and Hart were such frolickin' good times." Nobody had heard Spike enter the apartment, but after a brief pause Oz shifted on the couch to make room and Xander handed him a beer.

"Thanks, mate. What're we watching?"

"_Stroke Of Midnight_," Buffy told him. She sat on one of the armchairs with her legs tucked comfortably underneath her, and the look she gave him said she hadn't forgotten their earlier argument but she wasn't going to bring it up if he didn't.

He acknowledged this with the briefest of nods. Then he grinned. "Ah yes, that time-worn old classic. Wondering when you'd get round to that one."

"Quality viewing," Buffy agreed. "We definitely saved the best for … um, first."

"The first of many, hopefully."

Buffy snorted. "You're just saying that 'cause you're getting a free drink."

"More than one, love." He smiled. "And so what if I am? It's not like you're here because you're such a bloomin' big fan of –" He peered at the opening credits passing across the TV screen, "Candy Leblanc, Ace Blackfeather, Whitney Wilcox, or… Wait. Whitney _Wilcox_? Are they _serious_?"

"You got through Candy Leblanc without flinching, but you think Whitney Wilcox is messed up?" Xander smiled crookedly. "Let's hope you never have to name any kids, Spike."

"Hey, I could burden some poor little mite with a name as well as the next bloke," Spike protested. "Can't be too hard, they're doing it all the time."

"Could we please not discuss the possibility of Spike having kids? I'm getting nauseous over here." And to back up his point, Gunn was pulling a very realistic nauseous face.

"That's 'cause you just finished half the wontons on your own, you pig," Faith said, pelting him with her last few Skittles. "Besides, what you got against people having kids?"

"He wasn't talking about people, he was talking about Spike," Xander quipped. "And what, you get engaged and suddenly you wanna talk about kids? Isn't it little early to be getting all Mother Hen?"

Although she hadn't made any public announcements about it, the news that Faith was engaged was suddenly all over the school – not that she seemed to mind, even though students would come up and demand to see her ring on a regular basis, just so they could stand around oohing and aahing over it.

Faith shrugged, and to Xander's surprise her expression softened. "Can't blame a girl for planning the future. And it's not like I'd never thought about it before Robin proposed. It's a standard girl thing, wonderin' what your kids are gonna be like. Right, B?"

Buffy was staring vacantly at the screen, arms wrapped around her middle. "Hm?" Faith repeated what she had said and Buffy nodded slowly without turning from the screen. "Right," she agreed softly. Xander gave her a brief, searching glance and a slight frown crossed his features.

Thankfully, no one else had noticed anything.

---

**Author's Note**: I know Illyria's being kept in the background in this fic, but she's a difficult character to fit in, so she's probably going to stay there unless there's fighting to be done. Hopefully I'm not disappointing any big Illyria fans. :-P


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